Wrapped In Lace
by RedRidingHood24
Summary: Lydia feels alone without Allison beside her to cheer on the pack at a Lacrosse game. Set after 3B includes spoilers. This is a prompt I filled for Stydia-Fanfiction on tumblr.


(Lydia's POV)

My feet crunch on the grass where I carefully walk to get to the bleachers. The ground is icy with chilled dew from a surprisingly breezy pre-fall night. Lacrosse seasons only just begun, so I haven't missed any games yet. Some of the players are already out on the field warming up, bouncing on their tight-laced toes and whacking each other on their guards. I take a seat in the stands next to Chris. Even though he doesn't have a relative on the team, he uses our local sporting events as a relaxation method; a way acting like a 'normal' citizen and mature bachelor of Beacon Hills. His beard is coming in thick, especially near his sideburns and on the middle of his chin. He looks handsome in the huge lights surrounding the field, casting a dusty overcoat of night bugs and loose dirt above the grass.

Music grows around the crowd, almost like a sound bubble had been wrapped around the bleachers, holding in the maroon and white shirted sports-goers and pumping them up for the game. I went home and changed my shoes before coming here, brown platforms for black flats. They're not too warm, but I made up for it with a purple pea coat. I rarely wear pants but I chose to tonight. Sleek black pants and a blouse I'd been waiting to wear for months. It's lace detailing hugs my skin, almost matching it in it's white color. I mimicked the way she put a pink spaghetti strap underneath, giving it a pearl undertone. It still smells like her.

"What time does it start tonight?" Chris' scratchy voice goes through my ears when he leans to talk over the crowd's volume. He checks his digital watch.

"Eight," I smile, knowing Scott and Stiles will come out soon. Across the aisle, I see the Yukimuras. Mr. Yukimura is clearly excited to see Kira play, but I'm not sure about Noshiko. Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa, and Rafael sit in front of us.

"First game of the season," Stilinski turns to look at me, "and he actually gets to play!" In the corner of my eye I see Melissa roll her eyes with a fond smile. It's strange seeing the Sheriff in regular clothes, especially ones not covered by his official Sheriff's jacket.

My lace shirt is only one of the clothing pieces Chris let me have. "I didn't want them to just sit in cardboard boxes in the basement. And I figured she'd want you to have them." He looks at the clean white carpet, hands on his hips until one comes up to thumb his lip. Chris hands me a small orange suitcase; not a clown-y orange, but a bronzed beach sunset orange, and tells me to pack it full. "Of anything you want." He shuts Allison's thick door behind him quietly, letting me be in the silent space. I pray to whoever is up there that I'll hear something in the walls, in the string of her bow, in the clicking of the metal balls of the Newton's Cradle on her desk.

I start with her closet, pulling out the tops with hangers still attached, and lay them out on her bed, smoothing them with my hands. I only take the things that mind me of her the most. I do the same with jeans, dresses, and shoes. We're mostly the same size in everything. I reach into her hamper, pulling out only one item. Before I close the bag, I slip in the final white lace blouse I took from the hamper and a brown leather string bracelet with two red beads in the middle.

A bell rings into my mind and I swear I can feel my earlobes shaking. "Lydia," a smooth voice comes from below me.

"Hey," I look down at Stiles. He's standing on the grass beside the bleacher seats, helmet in one hand, his cheeks pinched pink in the cold air. "Scott already on the field?" He shakes his head.

"He's down by the benches with Kira and Malia. Come on!" Stiles waves his arm, beckoning me to follow him. Danny sits with one leg up on the bench beside him, stretching and rubbing his muscles before getting out on the grass to warm up.

"Nice to see you," Kira smiles, her lips pulled and showing a few teeth. She leans into me, in turn bumping me into Scott who sit on my left side. Malia's joined the team as well. Coach went on and on in class about how he'd seen her run during boy's practice and he finally decided to demand she get on the team.

"Are you warm enough, Lyds?" Stiles pulls me under his arm, realizing how thin my jeans are. I nod but I'm too late; he's reaching in his bag and pulling out a red hoodie. "Games gonna start." He looks at the Ref on the side of the field readying his whistle.

I get up and put my hand on the back of his head. "I'll see you after. Be careful." I glance at each of them know ¾ have supernatural healing abilities, but that doesn't stop me from seeing them as children. Stiles may have a strong mind but his body is fragile. Almost too fragile for a game like lacrosse. But I guess can be thankful it's not played on ice.

When I sit I put both arms of Stiles' sweatshirt under my bottom and wrap the body of it over my thighs. It was in his gym bag nestled between the clothes he removed to get into his equipment, so it's nice and warm.

The Referee blows his whistle, its shrill scream reminds me of my own; unpredictable and quick. Numbers 11 and 15 take the field, Scott directing his players. When he directs Kira, Stiles, and Malia he's more Alpha than Captain. The game plays like a song. The sound of feet pounding, clanking sticks and a shuffle in dirt. Kira steals from a brawny player on the opposing team, his orange and black jersey stretching tightly over his arms. They couldn't find this poor monster a bigger size?

"Go Kira!" I scream. Chris stands beside me, clapping. I've tied Stiles' sweatshirt around my waist, the arms dangling and hitting my legs when I jump up. Scott jolts behind Stiles covering him, protecting him.

Melissa, Rafael, and Stilinski jump up when Scott passes to Stiles and Stiles wails the ball into the goal. I'm on my feet, a huge smile on my face. Melissa's "whoop!" surrounds me and I'm doing the same, but then everything slows. The bounce of her hair in her jumps, Stiles striding across the field, the cold air picking at my skin. The seat beside me is empty. There's no dark-haired girl next to me cheering her boyfriend on, deep dimples in her cheeks and smiling with all of her teeth. I almost see her purple gloves, her hair getting stuck in her lip gloss and laughing when she tried to get it out. The smell of her unwashed blouse goes up into my nostrils and I let out my breath without a cheer. For a while, I'm swimming in the slowness.

"Lydia?" I turn my head. Stiles. "Are you alright?" I feel his fingers through the leg of my jeans.

"Did we win?" I ask, breathless.

"No." We didn't win the game, we didn't win at Oak Creek. Allison lost, and so did we.

It's almost as if he gets it. His hand is warm in my hair, on my neck. "I'm glad you made it." Stiles' lips pull at the side. And then…I have warmth in my chest


End file.
